She wasn't sure he heard it, but he didn't stop, and that was enough. The fourth and last bow was finally undone, and then his fingers came down to lightly rest upon the bare skin of her abdomen where it peeked through the hemmed edges of the gown. She drew in a gasping breath, her muscles suddenly taut beneath his hand, and for a moment they both froze. The stillness ended a moment later when he pressed another kiss alongside her throat, a soft groan muffled against the delicate flesh as he did. His fingers slid upward slowly, lightly brushing the thin line of now-exposed skin along the center of her torso, from belly to ribs to breast, with the sensitive pads of his fingers alone, until he reached the hollow of her throat once more, caressing it gently with his thumb while his fingers cupped her neck, gently massaging the tension at the curve of her shoulder. Finally his hand slid outward, beneath the cotton-candy softness of the cashmere, to cup the rounded softness of her shoulder and arm. His fingers tightened upon her, holding her still, as his mouth sought out the tender, abandoned hollow of her throat, lavishing soft kisses there, worshipping her with his mouth. She felt it through their bond, a sense of reverent awe mixed with the pounding force of his desire. That he could simultaneously feel two such seemingly contradictory things for her made her want to weep.
When he pulled back, a good foot of space now between them, she would have cried out at the absence were it not for the hand which held her secure, despite its trembling. His thumb stroked frantically along her collarbone, and his fingers clutched convulsively at the rounded curve of her shoulder, but either he didn't notice, or for once he realized that despite the chaotic nature of his actions, he wasn't hurting her. Whatever the reason, he didn't stop, and she was extremely grateful for that. A moment later, however, much to her dismay, his hand slid aside. She caught and held her breath, distressed but resigned to the inevitable, but instead his fingers caught the edge of her gown and tugged it aside, baring her left breast to the cool tunnel air. The right edge of fabric followed a minute later, and she expelled a gasping breath, stunned. He was no more than a shadow hovering above her, his touch nowhere upon her now, but she knew that he could see her, that even now he watched her in silence, his gaze taking in every detail of her trembling nakedness as heat blossomed over their bond, filling her chest and spreading outward until she was 
completely consumed by it. Vincent was not alone in the duality of emotions experienced this night. Lying bare-breasted before him, with his hot gaze upon her, she felt both intensely vulnerable and utterly wanton. Her breath came rapidly and she knew he watched the rise and fall of her breasts avidly as her ribcage expanded and contracted with dramatic swiftness.
"Catherine..." The sound whispered out shakily to echo just over their heads. Try as he might, he could not contain it.
"Please, Vincent..." she whimpered, not certain herself of what she really wanted. Oh, she knew she wanted more, but she was just as sure that she might ignite here and now, from no more than the look she knew was on his face, even though that sight was denied her by the inky blackness of the silent chamber.
And then he touched her. It was no more than the lightest stroke of one finger along the tender, lower slope of her left breast, the nail turned carefully away so that most of the sensation came from the light coating of fur alone, rather than the flesh beneath it, and yet that touch made her shudder fiercely, and cry out with a desire too long suppressed. It was a primal sound, low and hoarse and inarticulate. It vibrated in her belly and she knew he felt it there as well, the visceral impact of it impossible to misread.
"So beautiful," he repeated, his voice almost hypnotic in its tone, mesmerized by the sight before him. "So perfect..."
The touch was repeated on its twin to the right, and she shuddered again, his words sinking deep within her in shivery waves.
"Oh please, oh please..." she whispered hoarsely, again and again, her hands clutching the bedclothes convulsively as her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow, her eyes hazy with desire, her cheeks flushed with hot blood.
He grew bolder then, his strokes ranging wider, his touch shifting until the bare pads of his fingers caressed the soft, rounded swells, and then, finally, his palm, so warm and large, cupped her within its trembling grasp. His fingers and thumb cradled the soft underswell, while the taut peak stood isolated between that arc. She had never felt more aroused in her life. Though she couldn't see them, she knew the tips of her breasts were hard and tight, that one nipple strained up above his hand as though begging for the attention he'd already given the surrounding flesh. She felt like a rose, a tight bud in the morning dew, awaiting the sun's heat to ripen and unfurl. The heat was upon her now, and she felt herself unraveling, unfolding, opening with a lushness that shocked her. She'd never felt so wanton, so wild, so intense in her need. She needed him to touch her now - now! If he didn't do it, she would have to herself. Her body was too far gone to retreat. She needed his touch now! As though she'd spoken aloud, his thumb finally brushed over that yearning bud with a hesitant caress. They both shuddered and moaned in response, the touch so long anticipated between them it alone almost sent them over the edge. His hand trembled upon her, but he didn't stop, his caresses instead growing in confidence with each passing minute. Tender flesh was explored, each curve, valley and peak traced lightly, then more firmly, with fingers and palms while she moaned and writhed beneath him. He stroked along the underside of one breast, gathering the glistening moisture there on his thumb. The distance between them closed abruptly as he leaned down to press his nose against that delicate spot, breathing in the rich scent of her arousal with a low, rumbling growl.
Catherine froze with astonishment, the sudden move unexpected. He was breathing her in, drawing in her scent with a blatant, erotic pleasure that stunned her. When his tongue lapped coarsely along the base of her breast, she jerked back reflexively, that touch so intimate and so intense she almost couldn't bear it. He growled lowly, his hand tightening on her other breast to hold her still as he sought out the taste of her once more with a firm resolve. The taut nipple in his hand nested tight to his palm, and she moaned and moved again, this time arching up to rub it more firmly there, desperate to ease the aching need contained within it. He growled again, but continued to nuzzle the delicate underside of her right breast though his hand tightened again upon the left, massaging the firm softness of her curves for a moment before sliding away to roll the aching peak between his fingers, tugging lightly as she cried out in pleasure. The tip was so tight now, so hard with need. The magical play of his fingers upon her helped, but it wasn't enough.
"Please, Vincent, please!" she cried out, desperately needing him to understand.
With a groaning growl he left the soft curve of her right breast and without hesitation took the aching peak of the left into his mouth, catching it tight to suckle firmly upon the straining tip and surrounding areola. His arm slid around her arching back to hold her tight just as his other hand began a frantic exploration of her right breast. He drank her in with lips and teeth and tongue, and she cried out in anguished pleasure. Her other nipple was hard and throbbing now, his fingers building the need there as they had in the other, just moments before. Her hands had long abandoned their hold of the bedclothes for the much more alluring textures of Vincent. They circled his back, flexing furiously in the folds of his sweatshirt, then sliding up to twine in the still damp strands of his glorious mane, holding him to her breast with a fierce longing.
"Oh, please, please, please..." she whispered frantically, not sure herself what she wanted or needed now.
Somehow he knew; whether it was the sensual nature at his core, his instinctive response to her, or the inarticulate murmurings of their bond, he knew. The hand behind her back slid away, then covered her breast immediately as his lips left it, as though he knew it still needed his touch. His fingers moved upon her, both tender and firm, continuing to build the growing urgency there even as he slid back to its twin, taking it into the heat of his mouth to lavish the same attentions on it the other had gotten. He lay beside her on her bed, half draped over her torso as he fondled her breasts, and every now and then, as his mouth moved upon her, she felt the cleft of his upper lip catch and drag across her taut peak. Each time it happened he groaned loudly, and suddenly she realized that this hidden, secret flesh was an erogenous zone for him. Her trembling hands slid around to cup his cheeks, her thumbs stroking the silky roughness there, but not impeding his caresses. She inched in closer, until she was able to trace his upper lip while he suckled upon her. He growled at that new touch, but didn't stop, lost in the haze of her pleasure and his own. She trembled with excitement as she stroked more firmly, finally easing the flesh apart enough to slip the tip of one thumb into that hidden spot. He gasped and froze as she stroked deeply in, feeling the slick, silky flesh beneath her skin. His growl grew louder, rumbling through his throat and chest until it vibrated into her own body and she moaned in response. Her fingers still held his cheeks, one thumb pressing on an edge of his lip to spread the fold apart, the other plumbing its depths. He shuddered helplessly in response, and then cried out when she removed that touch. She held him firm, though, with her hands, and he lay still, as if unable to do anything but her bidding after that intimate touch. Both thumbs now rested on his upper lip, spreading the fold open even more, and she guided him down, her own breath held in anxious anticipation, until the taut peak of her breast slid along the slick tissue and was nested tight at the apex of the cleft. He groaned loudly, waves of sensation vibrating through her breast, and she released his lips, feeling the cleft close tightly about her.
For a moment neither of them moved. Her hands still bracketed his face, but their hold was loose now, letting him go where he would. Her heart pounded in her chest and his hand tightened upon her left breast, his thumb pressing down along the inner curve to feel that rapid beat. He trembled upon her, his upper chest nestled along her side, then suddenly his tongue pressed down upon the base of her nipple, urging it more firmly into the silken cleft. At the same instant his lips tightened around her. When he began to suckle again, the sensation was different, more intense, more wild. His lower lip drew in the full bud of her areola, while the upper lip held her nipple so tight, so hard, that touch in direct contrast to the silky flesh where it nested. His mouth devoured her, his tongue dragging upward along the areola to the very peak of her tight nipple over and over again. Now and then his teeth scraped against it, making her shudder with intense pleasure. It was too much to bear, too much. She cried out with gasping sobs, her ribs heaving desperately with the chaotic needs of heart and lungs. His lips tightened upon her once more, and his tongue stabbed down at the base of the peak just as the fingers of his other hand tugged hard on her left nipple. She exploded in a shattering, convulsive burst, arching up and carrying him with her as she cried out in an agony of release. In the dim recesses of their bond she heard his groaning cry and knew her release had drawn his own. He shuddered against her as she trembled and shook, their cries mingling in the darkness overhead. Finally they fell back to earth, exhausted and replete. Sleep enclosed them immediately, and they gratefully sank into it, their arms wrapped tight about each other, his mouth still upon her.
* * *
Catherine woke slowly, stretching languorously in the comfy warmth of the tunnel quilts, her eyes still closed, as though to deny the morning's coming. She wanted to go back to sleep, to immerse herself once more in the sensual dreams of Vincent making love to her in the darkness. A dim tapping intruded, catching her attention, and she sighed with regret. No, there would be no more dreams for now. Her eyes finally fluttered open as she lazed in her bed. On the bedside table a candle was lit.
Her dreams crystallized and merged and she sat up with a start. Vincent! She searched the chamber, but he was not there. He had been, though, she thought with a sudden fierce joy. He had come to her in the depths of the night, had lain with her in her bed, had loved her until her world contained nothing but him, his hands, his mouth... Oh, god, his mouth!
She moaned helplessly and slid back to the mattress once more, drawing the covers up and wrapping her arms about herself as though to recapture the blanketing warmth of his body about her. She looked over at the bedside table once more. Ten o'clock! She was late for class! Father would be in his study, the little ones clustered about him on the random chairs, sofas and pillows, learning their ABCs and numbers, while the teenagers sat in the schoolroom, waiting for their teacher. Had Vincent taken the class for her, resuming his duties despite the late-night return and the even later sleep? She jumped up guiltily and pulled on jeans, sweater and boots. She could smell the scent of him upon her, and though one part of her wanted nothing more than to sit quietly in a corner of her dim chamber and relive those memories now, to draw in that scent and the resultant sensual pleasure that waited, another part wished desperately for a bath, unwilling to share this precious progression between them with any other unwary soul.
Her wishes were irrelevant in this instance, however. Perhaps Vincent slept even now in his own chamber, unaware that the children waited. She rushed out the door and down the side path, arriving at the schoolroom with thankfully no encounters along the way. She slid to a halt outside the chamber and listened intently. Jesse's voice came through clearly, as he asked a question about the motivations between King Louis of France and King Henry of England, when Eleanor of Aquitaine left one for the other, creating a scandal that reverberated throughout the western world and shook the very foundation of the Papacy in the twelfth century. The answer came a moment later, and Catherine breathed a sigh of relief when it was Vincent's voice she heard. Through their bond she felt a stir, and knew he was aware of her presence outside the door. His voice faltered for a moment, then regained its strength once more. No respite was given, though, as another student immediately asked a follow-up question, keeping Vincent's attention on his wards. Catherine slipped away quietly and returned to her chamber, gathered up clean clothes and left for the bathing chamber, remembering to put an unlit lantern just outside the entrance leading to Father's study. The last thing she needed was to surprise him or one of the children with her late-morning presence there. The other entrance, though, the one which led to Vincent's quarters, was left unguarded, a sign of welcome to the one she would never turn away. He wouldn't leave his class, she knew that, but it was the principle of the thing.
Despite wanting to laze the morning away with daydreams of the night, now that she obviously had the opportunity, she didn't, rushing her bath so that the chamber would be free for the children should they need it during their lesson. She was done and out in fifteen minutes, grabbing the unlit lantern just outside Father's entrance to replace it along the wall in the main chamber itself. After dropping off a few things in the guest chamber and dragging a comb through her wet hair, she left immediately for the pipe chamber. The morning classes wouldn't end for another hour, and perhaps Pascal would have the time to give her another lesson in the unique derivative of Morse Code used to communicate below while she waited.
* * *
The time was tapped along the pipes at half-hour intervals, but the message which was rapped out at eleven-thirty was tentative, and obviously not Pascal's. Both Vincent and his students paused at the sound of that unfamiliar tone, but only he suspected that the student in training was Catherine, a small smile forming at the thought of her there, but disappearing again in an instant as her image drew deeper, more tumultuous memories from the night just past. He shook those from his mind quickly, as he had countless times during this morning's class, and tried to keep his voice steady as he dismissed his students. Classes below, however, were unlike classes above, where the sound of a lesson's end heralded a mad rush for the exit. Here there were always one or two who remained behind, eager to discuss some fascinating idea just gleaned from the lecture. Often the whole class remained, lost in dialogue between their teacher and one of their own, eagerly drinking in the intellectual exchange with either silent attention or boisterous participation.
Vincent loved those moments, their curiosity and intelligence challenging him constantly. Today everyone stayed behind, unwilling to leave their mentor so soon after the numerous absences following Catherine's abduction. He could tell they still needed assurances from himself and the other adults that they were safe once more, and stayed with them until noon, reassuring them with his steady and calm presence. Finally the last of them had left. Most had both homework and tunnel assignments in the afternoon, and their growing bodies demanded a nourishing lunch before the start of those additional activities. Vincent straightened a few items about the chamber, making sure it was in good shape for Catherine's afternoon class, but there was very little to be done and within minutes he was traversing the same path as they, toward the dining hall.
Though it was only a short distance away, he walked slowly, deep in thought. Catherine was there, he could feel her presence growing stronger in him as he approached. What could he say to her? Last night had been incredible. They had shared a similar experience, below in Paracelsus' cage, but there was no real comparison to be made. This time he had initiated that intimacy, his own fears overcome by the realization that she had insecurities he'd never imagined. And once he'd begun, there had been no stopping. In that regard, there was a great correlation to what had happened three weeks ago. Still, he had stopped, hadn't he? They had shared much, true, but it had not continued on to its logical conclusion. That meant something, didn't it? That they could control what they did or did not do together? Perhaps, he mused, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. Or perhaps they had been so exhausted by the dramatic end to their lusty encounter that sleep had interrupted what might otherwise have followed.
Lost in thought, he reached up to unconsciously stroke his lip with the curve of his thumb. It caught a fold of flesh at the cleft and he gasped, stopping abruptly, frozen in shock. A side tunnel opened directly to his right, and after a hesitant glance proved it was empty, he slid around the corner and leaned against the wall, out of the main view of the larger tunnel. He tentatively brushed his thumb over the cleft once more, shaken by the resultant wave of pleasure. Memories burst over him of Catherine's touch there, first with her fingers, then with the taut peak of her breast. He trembled as the sensations rushed through him again, gently stroking the silken interior as they shuddered about him. The taste of her, the feel of her nestled there, had been overwhelming, unbelievable. What had she thought of such a thing? This was truly an alien feature, and he was sure she'd never before suspected how sensitive he was there. Now that she knew, was she appalled, dismayed, uncertain? She certainly hadn't exhibited signs of any of those things last night. In fact, though she had definitely been astonished upon that discovery, he could have sworn that thereafter her response was one of unconditional delight and sexual excitement.
Sexual excitement. Even thinking in such terms made him blush. He didn't turn from the thought, though, determined to see it through to its conclusion. She would take no other, he was now convinced of that, and that left him with a tremendous burden of responsibility. He had to smile at that particular phrasing. A burden? Oh, yes, he had been so burdened last night. Poor Vincent...
He smiled ruefully to himself, remember the gut-wrenching pleasure he'd felt with her. Was it different, this pleasure, when she touched him, as she did four nights ago, and when he touched her, as he did last night? After a moment's contemplation, he shook his head. No, he couldn't distinguish between the two. Her touch upon him, his touch upon her, it was all a bliss too perfect to describe, and almost too intense to endure. This pleasure - sexual pleasure, a deep voice whispered with velvety softness - was something he had lived without his whole life, up until now, and yet with the barest exposure he had become lost in it. And he was suddenly certain that he couldn't live without it anymore, not as long as Catherine was at his side. She, too, had existed without it, though not for the years he had. Far too long, though, and all because of him. No, he wasn't willing to let that continue. He had, at the age of thirty-five, discovered the joys of sexual pleasure with a woman he loved beyond thought, and there was no way, he realized with stunned astonishment, that he would forego those pleasures again, despite the hesitations and fears which still remained. He drew in a deep breath and steadied his thoughts, standing still until he had regained his slipping physical control once more. Finally he sighed and left the side tunnel, continuing on his way to where Catherine waited.
Five minutes later he arrived. He paused outside of the chamber, listening to the comforting sound of low voices, the voices of friends and family talking together as they ate their noonday meal. Her voice was not among them at this moment, but he knew she was there. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the doorway and scanned the room for her face. He found her immediately, sitting across from Rebecca at a table near the far wall, on the other side of the chamber. Rebecca glanced up and saw him, her words stopped mid-sentence, then gestured for him to join them. Catherine looked around immediately, her eyes widening at the sight of him. Their gazes locked for a moment, but he looked away quickly, a flush heating his face at the thought of what might be betrayed by that connection in this public place. Making his way toward a side table, he took a tray, placed a bowl upon it and ladled out a hearty serving of stew, then added a thick slice of bread and cheese, before moving to join them. Catherine slid aside on her bench, making room for him, and he took that spot gingerly, abruptly aware of her physical presence beside him, as well as her constant ethereal presence through their bond.
"Rebecca was telling me about her candle-making process. She's going to give me lessons," Catherine explained quietly.
Rebecca didn't seem to notice the bashful tone of her voice, jumping in to elaborate.
"You'll be all set by fall to help with the Winterfest candles if you'd like, Catherine. There's always more than enough to be done then."
"I'd love that," the woman across from her readily agreed.
"You're setting an ambitious schedule, Catherine," Vincent added with a small smile, beginning to relax again. "If I'm not mistaken, the eleven-thirty time call was sent by you. Are you taking lessons from Pascal as well?"
Rebecca turned toward her with a smile. "Was that you, Catherine? I was wondering who Pascal's new student was."
Catherine blushed and nodding happily. "Yes, I've wanted to learn the code for a while now."
Just then Jamie and James appeared.
"Is there room for two more?" Jamie asked.
"Of course there is," Rebecca replied. "Take my seat. I've got a batch of wax melting and need to relieve Emma so she can get some lunch before her afternoon chores." She waved distractedly and hurried off, while the other two settled in across from Vincent and Catherine.
"Welcome back, Vincent," James said quietly, taking a piece of bread from the single tray which held both his and Jamie's lunch. "How did things go below?"
"Fine," he replied, glad for the further distraction. "The others should be arriving shortly - they would have left this morning."
James nodded. "They did. I just got a message from the eastern outpost - they passed through it minutes ago."
"Good," Vincent nodded. "There were no problems here while we were gone?" He looked at them both, and they shook their heads together.
"None at all, Vincent," the young woman said. "We've been checking the perimeter at least twice a day and so far we haven't found any weaknesses. I think your design will work out fine," she added, taking a tasty bite of stew.
Suddenly Vincent gave a start of surprise. Catherine's hand had come down to rest on his thigh, hidden beneath the table. She spoke quickly, both to cover his startled response, and to draw attention away from him, but she didn't remove her hand.
"I'm not surprised it's working so well, especially not with you two in charge of security." She smiled warmly at the couple across from her, and Jamie blushed at the praise. Though James' response was slightly more subdued, he smiled shyly at her.
"It's good to be able to give something back. I was beginning to feel pretty useless, Catherine. I don't know what might have happened if I hadn't been allowed to come below."
James stopped guiltily, and both Vincent and Catherine knew he was struggling not to thank her yet again, as he had already done at least twenty times since his acceptance by the council over a month before. Vincent had almost regained enough composure to assure him that the community had gained a valuable member when the small hand on his knee stroked lightly along his inner thigh, startling him into a nervous silence once more.
"We've all gained by your presence here," Catherine said, as if she'd read his thoughts.
"It's just like I told you, James - you're one of us now," Jamie said in all seriousness. "Just as Catherine is."
James turned towards her, and suddenly the table was immersed in silence. The younger couple were completely lost in each other's gaze, while across from them Vincent and Catherine were absorbed in their own thoughts of each other. Vincent couldn't move, loving the feel of her hand upon him so intimately while yet frozen with anxiety that someone might see. Catherine's thoughts were less clear to him, as chaotic as his own were. She still hadn't removed her hand, though, and when he finally took a deep breath and met her gaze, he saw a calmness radiating from her, amidst the love he could no longer deny. His hand slid over her own, squeezing it against his trembling thigh muscle, and at that touch she turned her hand so that their palms pressed together tight, fingers twining to say what neither could just now.
The conversation finally resumed, and though all four took part in it, it was easy to see that each person's attention was clearly focused on the one sitting beside them. Nonetheless their lunches disappeared steadily, a feat that surprised Vincent when he thought on it later, especially considering that neither he nor Catherine had once released the clasp of their hands beneath the table, not even after they'd risen to leave. The chamber was almost empty by then, and Catherine made her excuses hastily, when she realized how close to one o'clock it was.
"The children will be arriving at the schoolroom for their lessons in a few minutes - I'll have to go."
The others nodded their agreement, but Vincent turned toward her, catching her gaze as she stacked his now-empty tray with her own.
"I can take the class now that I'm back, if you like, Catherine." He spoke hesitantly, as though unsure of what her true wishes might be. "Perhaps you'd prefer to begin your lessons with Rebecca this afternoon?"
She shook her head. "I'd rather teach the class, Vincent, unless you've been missing it?"
He watched her closely, then shook his head slowly in turn. "There's still a lot to catch up on, and if you're sure you're up to it, I would gladly accept your help."
Her smile brightened considerably, and he sighed with pleasure, certain now that he'd done the right thing.
"I love teaching them, it's no bother, believe me," she said happily.
He sighed again, lost in her beauty. Neither noticed Jamie and James leave silently, after one long look at their companions and a short, smiling exchange between them. Vincent and Catherine left the dining hall together, then walked together toward the classroom, silent. At the side tunnel he'd stopped in before, he paused again.
"I should go meet the others," he said, nodding toward the smaller path. The eastern outpost was half an hour in that direction, and no doubt they were nearby even now, heading toward Father's study to review the results of the previous three days' work.
She nodded in turn, her gaze locked to his, their hands still clasped tight.
"Catherine, about last night..."
She laughed, startling him from his thoughts. He looked quizzically at her and she smiled impishly, lights twinkling in her eyes. After another giggle erupted, she hastily covered her mouth with her free hand and tugged him into the smaller path. He followed reluctantly, both confused and curious.
"I'm sorry I laughed, Vincent, but that sounded so familiar. It even looks familiar," she teased, glancing down the still-deserted passageway. "I hope that means that you're going to kiss me soon," she added, wagging her eyebrows at him suggestively.
He blushed, remembering the similar scene at this same juncture just four nights ago. Last night her reminder of his words had distressed him, but now, after what they'd shared, he could almost smile at the memory, though heat still surged in his cheeks.
"Do you want me to kiss you, Catherine?" He asked, completely serious.
"Oh yes," she murmured, now just as serious as he. "I want you to kiss me very much..."
She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before Vincent's free hand had cupped her neck and pulled her forward. His mouth met hers in a blazing kiss, and all thought of words deserted them both. A moment later they fell apart, gasping for breath and staring at each other in stunned surprise, all teasing now gone. Neither had expected such a dramatic response. Vincent looked shocked, as though he couldn't imagine what had come over him. Catherine's face was suffused with red, and she licked her lips, unaware that she did so. Vincent was very aware of that action, however, his eyes following the tip of her tongue helplessly. He realized what he was doing a minute later and his flush intensified. A tapping over the pipes interrupted their frozen tableau, and finally, hesitantly, Vincent's eyes rose to meet hers. They darted away quickly, but ultimately could not stay away from her beloved face.
"It's one o'clock," he whispered hoarsely. "The children will be waiting."
She nodded silently, then slowly backed out of the side tunnel and into the main. "We'll talk about this later, Vincent," she said with firm resolve.
He nodded slowly, a bemused expression on his face, then turned and left her to make his way toward the others. Just as they had four nights ago, with less than twenty feet separating them, both stopped and turned to look again, then finally turned away, each heading toward a different location, each wanting nothing more than to stay together in some cozy corner where no one would find them.
The afternoon class ran for three hours, just as the morning ones did. Like Vincent's morning class, the middle children were not quick to leave the classroom at the four o'clock tapping, but instead stayed to ask numerous questions. Geoffrey, Catherine suspected warmly, stayed just to be near her. Twenty minutes later, after everything was put away and straightened, they all trooped out of the chamber together. At the side path which led toward the guestchamber she waved good-bye and continued on alone. She hesitated at the second side-path which led to her room, then resolutely continued on to Vincent's chamber instead. Though a single candle was lit there, the chamber was empty. She continued down toward the bathing pool, and finding no lantern lit called out hesitantly, "Hello?" No one replied, and she stepped in and moved toward the far exit which led toward Father's quarters. Slipping through his bedchamber, she found herself in the entrance to his study. No signs of the morning lessons for the youngest children could be seen in his chamber now, hours after the fact, and neither was there any sign of the meeting of the work crew after their returned this afternoon. It was quiet and empty, no one there but Father, and he was engaged in what she knew to be his favorite leisure-time activity, next to playing chess with Vincent. He sat at his desk, a medical journal in one hand, a stack of others nearby, a steaming cup of tea before him, with a cozy-covered pot beside it.
"Father?"
He turned around, startled to see her, then relaxed once more, a smile curving his lips.
"Come in, Catherine. Took the shortcut, I see," he commented dryly, nodding over her shoulder toward his bedchamber.
She blushed and nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't stop to think..."
He waved her concerns away dismissively. "Don't worry. After years of Vincent's and Devin's shortcuts, I'm well used to it," he said wryly. "Class all finished, eh?" She nodded and he gestured her over. "Come, join me for tea."
"Tea sounds wonderful," she said, finding an extra cup and saucer before slipping into a chair at the other side of his desk.
She waited until he'd poured out a cup of the steaming brew, blew on it, took a small sip, then sat back with a sigh.
"Did they give you a hard time this afternoon?" he asked.
"No more than usual."
Father laughed. "Well then, it must have been a rough afternoon indeed. You've taken on the most difficult class in terms of discipline, Catherine, and believe me, Vincent and I are most assuredly grateful!"
She grinned, enjoying his lighthearted banter. "Well, perhaps they are a little rambunctious," she replied cautiously.
"A little?!" he said, his eyebrows rising with good-natured incredulity.
She laughed out loud, feeling herself relax even more. "All right, maybe a little more than a little," she admitted cheerfully. "Still, I've enjoyed it tremendously. Teaching such young, eager minds is far more satisfying than I'd ever thought it could be."
Father smiled and nodded. "I understand completely," he agreed, all teasing aside.
"Did the work crew meet here this afternoon?" she asked, idly looking around for signs she might have missed in her first appraisal.
"Yes, they left about an hour ago to check on a potential problem two levels down. Don't worry," he assured her hurriedly, seeing the look of dismay begin to appear, "I'm sure it's nothing that a small repair won't fix, probably no more than an hour or two at most."
She gave a sigh of relief and nodded, "Good," before returning to her hot tea once more.
"Catherine..."
Father's voice had a different ring to it now, less teasing, more serious, and she looked up expectantly.
"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"
She cocked her head, for a moment confused.
"About here," he paused, "and there..." He pointed upward with one finger, clearly indicating the world above.
"Oh," she replied flatly.
"You've been away for several weeks now. Won't your friend, Joe, be wondering if you're returning to your job?"
"Yes," she said quietly, "he will be."
"Shouldn't you tell him, one way or the other?"
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes locked to his. "Father..."
He leaned forward, and caught her hand as it reached across to his. "Tell me."
"I want to stay," she said, her voice breathy with anxiety. "Will you let me?"
He stared into her eyes for several long minutes, and she held her breath, her heart sinking. Deep down she was sure of the inevitable response.
"Yes."
The answer was so unexpected and so quietly spoken that for a moment she was sure she hadn't heard it correctly.
"Yes?" she squeaked.
"Yes," he repeated firmly.
"I don't mean just for a visit, Father, or for a vacation..." she began, sure he had misunderstood.
"I know," he assured her calmly, releasing her hand and leaning back to take a sip of his tea once more.
"But... But..." she stammered, unable to complete the thought.
"But you didn't think I would allow it, did you?" he asked her, smiling.
"No." That answer was easy enough at least. Even now she was afraid that somehow this was all a bad joke, that any minute he would tell her it couldn't be, both for her own safety and for that of his son.
"Catherine, I know what happened in Paracelsus' cage, at least some of it," he went on, his expression now somber and serious.
She blushed crimson, and he nodded, muttering, "Yes, well..." before he was able to meet her eyes once more. "And I saw how the separation affected Vincent afterwards, and how it affected you. I may be blind, but I'm not stupid. Yes, I'm worried about your safety - both of you - but I can also see that there is perhaps a greater danger for you both when you're apart." He sighed and refilled his now-empty cup, then leaned across the desk to refill hers as well. "I want what's best for you both, and I'm beginning to think that what's best is for you to be together."
She gasped in shocked surprise, and he smiled wryly.
"I know, I know, you never expected it, did you?"
"No... I mean, yes... I mean..." She stopped, red with embarrassment.
"Don't worry, I know what you mean."
He smiled a self-deprecating grin and she sighed with relief.
"Then I can stay, truly stay?" she asked, still stunned.
"As far as I'm concerned. Of course, this is a private matter between you and Vincent - it's really up to you two. If it's what you both want, I won't stand in your way, and I believe I can assure you that no one else on the council will either. Have you thought about what you want to do here, if you stay? You're a professional woman, used to working above. You might find such a transition difficult, at best."
"I've thought about that, Father. I'm not overlooking the difficulties, but I just can't help thinking that none of that matters compared to what I'll gain. And I know what I'd like to do below, if it's all right with the council - I'd like to continuing teaching the middle children. Do you think Vincent would miss it too much?"
Jacob laughed. "I don't think so," he said with a chuckle. "Oh, don't get me wrong, he would like it if he could teach them all, but that's just not possible. Teaching so intensely for six hours a day, along with his other duties, is very stressful. He'll find ways to maintain the bond he has with the children, never fear that. I'm very glad to hear you say you'd like to continue, though, Catherine. The children can learn so much from you, and another teacher will be a welcome addition to our community. I dare say we'll find other things for you to do as well."
"What did you have in mind, Father," she asked, leaning forward eagerly to hear his thoughts. She couldn't believe he'd given this such extensive thought and was agreeing so readily. An amazing, unbelievable thought played around the edges of her mind, but his solid presence was enough to distract her from it for the most part. Was it actually possible that the dream she'd dreamt for herself and Vincent might very well be coming true at long last?
"Well, speaking of the council, someone with the background you have in law would suit our needs very well," he said.
She sat back abruptly, stunned. "You're kidding!"
"No, of course I'm not," he said, looking confused by her response.
"But... But..."
"This sounds familiar," he said dryly, his gentle humor snapping her out of the stammering spell which seemed to have her in its grasp.
"But the council is composed of the senior members of the community," she objected.
"Not really," he disagreed. "They may be among the wisest and the most knowledgeable, perhaps, but they're not necessarily the most senior. I don't think it will be long before Jamie and James are both members, and I don't think it will be long before you are, either. We need good minds below, Catherine, not just strong backs. This community was founded on ideals, on hopes and dreams," he said. "Surely you know something of that?" he asked, this time quite gently.
She blushed and tears sprang to her eyes. Yes, she knew something about that.
"Oh, Father," she whispered, overcome with emotions. He stood up, alarmed, and started to move toward her, and she jumped up and moved around the desk to hug him soundly.
"There, there," he said, rubbing her back gently, "it will be all right, you'll see, everything will be fine."
"Catherine?"
They both turned to find Vincent standing hesitantly upon the top step of the entrance into the study area proper. His gaze flickered to his father for a moment, but quickly returned to her, then his stillness ended abruptly and he moved swiftly down the stairs and toward them both.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his gaze locked to hers when he reached their side.
"Nothing, Vincent," she said, smiling through her tears. "Nothing's wrong."
"In fact," Jacob said calmly, returning to his seat to take another sip of tea, "you might be pleasantly surprised to know that your teaching schedule will be reduced somewhat, leaving you a bit more time for all the other responsibilities that seem to fall your way here."
Vincent glanced at his father, his brow furrowed with confusion, then back to Catherine again.
"I've offered to take over the middle class full-time, Vincent, if you won't miss it too much," Catherine explained hesitantly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Full time? Catherine..."
"Please, Vincent, don't say it," she said, forestalling his next words. "You told me before it would be my decision. I've decided. I want to stay."
Vincent drew in a gasping breath, and pressed a trembling hand tight to the center of his chest.
"I... I..." He stammered, unable to complete his thought, his eyes darting back and forth with disbelief between his father and the woman standing before him.
"Definitely made for each other," Father muttered dryly, sotto voce.
Catherine tugged his hands and stepped backwards, toward the stairs. "We need to talk," she said firmly.
He still looked stunned, following her as though he were in a trance as she led him up the stairs and out the chamber exit.
Jacob watched their slow retreat with amusement. Beyond that, though, he felt a humble gratitude to Catherine for stubbornly refusing to accept the limits he himself had tried so hard to impose upon Vincent's life. She had known better than he what was best for his son, and thank god she'd adhered to the course of love. He couldn't imagine what fate might have awaited Vincent should he have lost her. He shook his head with dismay, the thought of such a thing too dreadful to imagine. Catherine was what his son needed to be happy, and above all, Catherine was determined to give him what would make him happy, despite both his and his father's obstinacy in this regard. He smiled again. Yes, Catherine had known all along. He sighed with relief, then turned back to the waiting journals, a small smile quirking his lips.